Paxton and the Lone Star (40 page)

“And now look what we've done,” Lottie exclaimed as the sun crept onto the tabletop between them. “Joseph should be home almost any minute.” A sly look crossed her face. “I wanted the pie to be a surprise for him, but I don't think he'll mind if we sample it. Just to make sure, of course.”

Elizabeth nodded seriously. “A good idea. Besides, Hogjaw is due back from San Antonio. And if he gets here before we eat our share, there won't be a crumb left.”

“Hogjaw!” Lottie shuddered. She got up, retrieved the pie from the window and began to cut it. “Sometimes you amaze me. I know he means well and all, but I just can't see how you stand to have him around. Every time he visits here I have to add some of Joseph's whiskey to my coffee to keep from getting the willies.”

“I'm used to him, I suppose,” Elizabeth said, ashamed for not defending Hogjaw more strenuously and yet afraid to test her newfound friendship with her sister.

“Maybe so. Still … You want more coffee?”

“Good Lord, no,” Elizabeth groaned. “I've had enough to last me a year.”

“Let's go out on the porch. It's cooler there in the afternoons. And—” Lottie rubbed her back. “—I think I've had about all I can take of those kitchen chairs for one day.” She handed Elizabeth her pie, walked out onto the porch, and sank into one of the rockers Joseph had built. “Ahhhh!” she sighed, glad to be off her feet again. She looked down at herself and lightly patted her abdomen. “Lord, I must look a sight.”

Elizabeth pulled her chair closer to the rail. “Nonsense. You look happy.”

“I am, I suppose,” Lottie said. She smiled wryly. “When I'm not weeping and wailing like I was this morning when you found me. I don't know what to think. One day I'm as brave as Daniel in the lions' den, and then my little wonder here gives a kick and I realize how alone we really are, and how far from any kind of help.”

“Now you're feeling sorry for yourself,” Elizabeth laughed. “Joan and Eustacia are no more than twenty minutes away and you know it.”

“Maybe so. It's still scary, though.”

“Don't complain,” Elizabeth said lightly to hide her disappointment. “I just wish I had cause to be scared that way. It would be worth it.”

“And then it'll be
my
turn to come by your place and tell
you
not to worry. I promise not to be too condescending.” Lottie grinned widely. “Would you look at us? We came out here to eat pie, and instead we sit and talk sad talk.” She waited for Elizabeth to take a bite, then tasted her piece. “Well,” she said, making a little face. “It isn't one of my better efforts. Too much honey in the crust, I think. That and the dried apples …”

“That's right. Rub it in,” Elizabeth laughed. “The crust on the cobbler I baked last night made excellent shingles for the smokehouse.”

“You probably didn't add salt. You never add salt.”

“Salt's for curing.”

“You always say things like that. Always.”

Elizabeth talked around a mouthful of pie. “Salt is for beans, then.”

“It is also for pie crust, as Grandmother and Mother tried to tell you for years. I don't know why they kept trying. Convincing you of anything is a task I gave up long ago.”

The sisters glared at one another for a moment. Then the frowns melted and both of them laughed. “Well, I'm glad to see some things remain the same,” Lottie said.

“A touch of constancy in a land of ever changing moods and seasons,” Elizabeth said, paraphrasing one of Reverend Kania's trail sermons.

“Amen!” Lottie sighed. “Nothing like a touch—” Suddenly, she tensed and touched her abdomen as the baby within her kicked hard.

“Lottie?…” Elizabeth said, concerned.

“He kicked, is all,” Lottie whispered. “It always startles me.”

“Lottie, go inside!” Elizabeth's voice had changed dramatically, grown urgent, insistent.

Lottie glanced at Elizabeth, then quickly toward the mouth of the valley and the intersecting trail. At first she saw nothing remarkable. The edge of a cloud had cut the sun and left the blackjack oaks and towering cedars in shadow. A meadowlark whistled, bobbed, and flitted across the pasture. The afternoon was pure and still, bright with wild flowers. A crow called. Nearer, squirrels chattered and scolded among themselves. The world was filled with the harmony of a spring day.

And one thing more. With fear.

Lottie sucked in air between her teeth and held herself perfectly still. She too had seen the Indians at the edge of the trees. And their grotesque adornments were the dab and slash of warpaint.

“Oh, my God!” Lottie whispered in a choked voice.

Three Indians walked their horses out of the grove and stopped, watching the cabin and the women.

“Lottie! Is there a gun?”

“Oh, my God! What are they?”

“Comanches, I think. Is there a gun?”

Lottie stared at the Indians.

“Damn it, Lottie!” Elizabeth did not take her eyes off the braves.

“Yes. Over the fireplace.”

“Bring it to me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Stand up slowly. Walk inside and bring me the gun.” Elizabeth dabbed at her lip with the hem of her apron. “Now!” she commanded hoarsely.

It seemed to take forever, but Lottie finally rose and walked slowly inside. Once out of sight, Elizabeth could hear her run to the fireplace.
Of course. A rifle over the mantle.
She remembered seeing it earlier, remembered thinking about it. Her father had taught her how to shoot, but never how to kill a man. She would have to get mad, as mad as she'd been that day in Natchez Under the Hill. Or afraid.
That won't be a problem. I am afraid.
The world began to spin. Her knees trembled.
Breathe, you foolish girl.
She forced herself to exhale, heard the air whistle past her teeth as she inhaled.
Christ! Maybe they're friendly.
She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling too.
Sure. Like the ones Hogjaw met were friendly. The ones who left him with a nightmare face. How will I look? No. They will have to kill me!

“It's by the door, right behind you. Oh, Jesus!” Lottie sounded panic-stricken. “They're coming, Bethie. They're attacking!”

“Stay inside, Lottie. No. Climb out the back window and hide in the root cellar. Make sure you keep the cabin between you and them. Do it now!”

Elizabeth reached into the cabin and grabbed the rifle. She had no time to see if Lottie had obeyed, only to advance to the edge of the porch as the Comanches raced toward the cabin, their bloodcurdling screeches tearing the pristine silence.

True!

She raised the rifle, sighted on the closest warrior, then gasped in horror. The flint … there was no flint! The rifle would not fire unless the flint struck the frizzen and set off the gunpowder with its sparks. Frantic, she looked up to see if the nearest savage was upon her, and to her surprise found he had veered from his course and was retreating. Swiftly, she shifted her aim to the second brave and then, when he turned aside, the third. The rifle was useless, but they didn't know that.

The third Indian waved his lance and crouched low on his horse as he rode parallel to the porch, wheeled, and rode back in an attempt to lure the white-skinned woman into wasting a shot. The muzzle never wavered, nor did she shoot. Like a true warrior, he realized, she was going to wait for a killing shot, and he did not want to be the one sent to the Great Spirit by a woman's hand. Let one of the others, and he would swoop down like the mighty hawk and lift her scalp and hang the magic golden hair from his beaded belt. Keeping flat against his mount, he swerved away and rode until he was out of range. When he joined his companions, he realized they had entertained similar thoughts. The golden-haired woman was disconcerting. She was powerful medicine. The matter required thought and discussion.

Elizabeth lowered the rifle and waited.

Seated on their ponies just beyond the garden, the warriors argued among themselves. Now and then they pointed at her, stabbed their lances in her direction. At last, with a chorus of yips and howls, they wheeled their horses and charged the house again.

“Your average Injun, now, is brave but cautious. But he likes things in their place. He don't cotton to the strange.” Elizabeth remembered Hogjaw's words. Something, maybe her actions, was definitely bothering them. She held the rifle in front of her, and as the Indians closed in, threw it to her shoulder.

Once again, the Indians swerved aside. This time they stopped in the south meadow, beyond rifle range.

Impasse.

“Disdain in the face of danger. Raw courage. That's what the heathens respect. That and nothin' else.” Hogjaw had said that, too. Elizabeth didn't know if it were true, but decided, for lack of a better plan, to take a chance. Willing herself to move in spite of the numbing paralysis that stiffened her limbs, she sat in the rocking chair, balanced the rifle across the railing, and began to finish her pie.

The Comanche braves had intended to make a simple raid. Thoroughly confused, they watched Elizabeth and tried to figure out what was happening. There were no men present. White women were easily frightened and killed or abducted, depending on the whim of the attackers, but here was one who did not scream or wail or run. She appeared not to pay them any mind. It was obvious she could handle the rifle, for she waited for the shot that killed. The braves argued.

Elizabeth finished her pie, wiped her mouth with her apron, and stood. She didn't see how she could endure the tension much longer. She had bought time for Lottie, done her best. It was time to do something positive. Her heart in her throat, she picked up the rifle, stepped off the porch, and began walking toward the Indians. They watched her come on, her stride unwavering, her skirt trailing in the dust, her shining gold hair streaming out behind her in the breeze.

A creature of beauty, a creature of vengeance. A creature obviously commanded by the Great Spirit, or worse by the Owl, which everyone knew was the Messenger of Death.

It wasn't worth learning the truth. The warriors yanked viciously on the rope bridles and spun their ponies. The horses reared and plunged. The Comanches yipped and howled to show they were not afraid, but shrewd men who had seen through the trap laid for them. Before the white woman had come a dozen paces closer, they had galloped up the valley and disappeared, leaving behind no more than a filmy cloud of brown dust to waft across the garden and Elizabeth.

It was over. Dazed, Elizabeth stopped, held the rifle close to her to keep her hands from shaking, and ordered a semblance of strength to her knees, which seemed to have turned to water. She could feel a cold sweat beading her forehead and knew she had to sit down, fast. Turning around as if frightening away a Comanche raiding party were an everyday occurrence, she walked back to the house.

Lottie was in the doorway. “I found this in the kitchen,” she said, holding up a short-handled axe. She looked frightened and utterly ineffectual, but her determination added a whole new dimension to her beauty. “I thought I could help.”

“They're gone,” Elizabeth said. “I think I'll sit down now,” she added, and fainted dead away.

Hogjaw's lumpy, floppy face wasn't the easiest thing to set eyes on when regaining consciousness, but Elizabeth found it beautiful.

“We come riding up hell-bent on rescue and found Lottie tryin' to drag you into the house. Sure as hell gave me a start. I figured you'd done took a Comanche lance and was a goner.”

Elizabeth's vision improved. She saw Lottie sitting in a chair, Joseph standing by her side.

“We ran into three Comanche bucks,” Joseph explained, “riding like Lucifer himself was after them. Hogjaw winged one of the rascals before they cleared the west hill.”

“Only one place they could have been comin' from was this farm,” Hogjaw went on. “So when we seen you stretched out and Lottie strugglin' with you …” His face warped into a semblance of a smile and his eyes looked more tender than Elizabeth ever remembered seeing them. “Well, I'm just thankin' God you're still alive, missy. Just thankin' God.”

“I'm sorry I gave you a start,” Elizabeth said, sitting up.

“Start? Hellfire, girl! That was the whole P-plumb race. Start and finish.” He rose suddenly. “Gol-D! The pack horse! I forgot all about her.” He patted Elizabeth's arm, moved toward the door. “You rest up now, missy. I'll go catch her an' be back in two shakes.”

“You go help, Joseph,” Lottie said. She got out of her chair and shooed Joseph after Hogjaw. “Leave a bucket of fresh water on the back stoop before you get too far. Elizabeth could use a wash.”

Joseph walked obediently to the back door, then stopped and turned. “Lottie told me what … how you … that is, what happened,” he said, searching for the right words. “I … well … Blast it! I mean …” The frown lines on his forehead softened and a slow smile lit his face. “Thank you, Elizabeth. All three of us … thank you,” he blurted, and quickly closed the door before Elizabeth could answer.

“And now,” Lottie said, obviously taking over, “I am going to help you clean up, little sister. And when we're ready to let them back in, we'll keep Joseph and Mr. Hogjaw Leakey away from the pie and let the women have seconds for a change. Like Mother always used to say, ‘All's well that ends well.'”

And all was well. For three days—three notches in the gate post. For three days of planting and sewing and humming lonely ballads at sunset, and waking to begin a day anew. On the fourth day, a
vaquero
rode into the yard and came to her door. He carried a letter from Mexico City. The scarlet wax bore the deal of Don Raphael Sanchez. With a sudden dread stabbing at her heart, Elizabeth tore it open and read:

Most Excellent Lady: